


Another Story Altogether

by ObsidianJade



Series: Hallowed [4]
Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: All Hallowed Era, CHoPs Era, Gen, M/M, Maru being awesome, Meet-Cute, My Apologies To The Tag Wranglers, Nick is an annoyance and should be repurposed as a ceiling fan, Post All Hallowed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianJade/pseuds/ObsidianJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of <strike>four</strike> <em>five</em> one-shots of Nick and Blade's relationship, set in chronological order at varying times within the Hallowed ‘verse.  It starts with Nick and Blade’s first meeting in 1977, meanders through a few milestones in their lives, and ends four years post <em>All Hallowed</em>.</p><p>*Planned edits have <strong>finally</strong> been made to Ch. 4, <em>Happily Ever After</em>.  Ch. 5, <em>And Beyond</em>, is still a WIP due to an ongoing battle of the Muses.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Don't Know The Half Of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overall story title comes from Blade’s thoughts on Nick’s new/old paint job in Chapter 8 of _All Hallowed: He’d been struck by Nick’s looks from the first moment they met; well, his looks and his resounding lack of common sense, but that was another story altogether._
> 
> While this particular piece is definitely not by best writing of the series, it is a funny little bit of backstory that explains some of my headcanon as well as introducing another character who will play a part in this sub-series.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Cars/Planes Universe and all characters and settings contained are owned by Disney/Pixar. I make no claims to ownership and no profit from this work.

YOU DON’T KNOW THE HALF OF IT

The police car, a world-weary looking Ford with a cracked grille, had barely glanced at him before grunting dismissively and pointing a tire up the hill. “Audition holding is in the lot on the other side of the building, to your right,” he sighed, waving Blade by without question.

Blade blinked, a bit surprised. Did he honestly look _that much_ like an actor? 

....yes, he decided upon reflection, he probably did. A helicopter rolling along the street, a hundred pounds under spec from scraping by on Ramen and low-grade fuel, polished to a high gloss, and with a particular mix of hope and ingrained cynicism in his eye. He looked exactly like what he was - a starving actor.

This had the potential to be his big break. Television. Weekly television. A _regular role_ on weekly television. He’d had the occasional guest spot before, but nothing for more than one episode, and nothing that paid enough to keep him in the grade of fuel he needed. His engines weren’t terribly keen on running properly at the moment, hence why he’d done the last half a block down here with the pavement pounders.

Sighing, Blade turned a sharp right and rolled up the driveway into the parking lot. Whoever said acting was the easy way out deserved a rotor-slap upside the roof.

There was a small cluster of helicopters at the far side of the lot, most of whom looked like they could afford more than Ramen and cheap fuel even on their bad weeks, and none of whom glanced his way. Biting the inside of his cheek, Blade steeled himself to join their group, but a flicker of movement off to his port side distracted him for a moment.

It was another world-weary looking car, this one a solid black Dodge, sitting up slightly on his suspension and eyeing Blade in surprise. “Ranger, right?”

Blade blinked, studying the Dodge for a moment before mentally substituting the near-chartreuse paint he’d last seen the car in, on the set of that terrible horror flick with the giant Bugs. “Mister Forest?”

“Call me Rob, but yes. Come to try your luck at being a Choppy?”

“Yes, sir,” Blade answered, silently cursing himself for the sheepishness he felt in his voice. “Kinda hoping for something regular.” 

Rob’s eyes flicked over Blade’s flanks, taking stock, and he nodded in silent understanding. “Well, it’d be good to work with you again, so I’ll certainly wish you luck.”

Again? “You’ve already got your role, sir?”

“I do. Sergeant Rhodey Graeter, in charge of maintaining the peace - and the officers of the California Highway Patrol.”

“Big job.”

“No kidding. Especially considering I’m working with -”

“LOPEZ!”

The earsplitting bellow rang off the buildings around them, drawing shrieks from the crowd of young star-spotters clogging up the road downhill of them. By the sounds drifting up off the street, more than one bumper had gotten bumped, and nobody, including the cluster of actual police cruisers hanging around in an attempt to prevent precisely that, sounded happy.

A moment later, the nose of another helicopter, slightly smaller than Blade himself, poked around the edge of the building, eyes wide and searching.

“Oh, not you again,” muttered the Dodge, causing a bright, startling grin to break out on the smaller chopper’s face. His teeth were blindingly white against his dusky burgundy paint, and his smile could’ve probably lit half the block. 

“Ah, c’mon, Forest, you love me!” Chuckling now, the small chopper made his way around the corner of the building at an awkward hop. Choppers with fixed landing skids, rather than wheels like Blade’s, always looked fairly ridiculous on the ground, although the easy grin on this guy’s face suggested he didn’t particularly care. 

“I do not. You’re an annoyance and should be repurposed as a ceiling fan,” Forest grumbled, but didn’t move away as the newcomer bounced up to him.

“You loooove me,” the chopper grinned, bumping affectionately up against the car’s side and taking the tire-swat it earned him without his smile diminishing one bit. “Introduce me to your friend, Forest, I gotta get the names of all the good-lookin’ folks here.”

Blade’s jaw didn’t quite drop, but he thought the expression on his face might have been more suitable to a concussed tractor, and although his mouth opened and closed a few times, he couldn’t quite make it function enough to produce words.

“Lopez, you do realize that not every single person in the world wants to make time with you?”

“ ‘course not, Forest, some of ‘em haven’t met me yet.”

“LOPEZ! GET BACK HERE BEFORE I PUT JALAPEÑOS IN YOUR COOLANT!”

The car’s expression spoke volumes. 

“...and some of ‘em are Maru,” Lopez admitted, his grin becoming marginally sheepish but no smaller. “He’s cranky. And I will be, too, if I don’t get the name of your lovely companion?”

“It’s Blade,” Blade managed, almost stammering his own name, although that was mostly covered up by Maru bellowing for Lopez a third time.

“Blaze, huh? Suits you, handsome, I bet you run hot,” Lopez grinned, brilliant and charming. “Didn’t I seen you on M*A*S*H once?”

Blade felt mildly dizzy. He was a bit-part player, he’d never really fooled himself into thinking otherwise, and didn’t have the stardom to attract even the usual groupies, let alone another actor. Even one that apparently made a habit of flirting with anything with an engine. His brain, usually happy to assist him during auditions and the rare occasion he was recognized, had currently stalled somewhere between correcting Lopez on his name and that yes, he had been on M*A*S*H, how on earth did Lopez recognize him from that -

“LOPEZ!”

The yell was right on the other side of the building now, and Lopez gave a squeak of what might have been actual alarm, and bounced rapidly around behind Blade, nearly scraping their sides together, his rotor blades brushing over Blade’s roof. “Hide me!”

Although he had a feeling he might not want to know, Blade couldn’t quite keep himself from asking. “What exactly did you _do_?”

“Just salt in his coffee, honestly. He drinks too much of it anyway, gonna give himself engine failure, and he should know better, he’s -”

 _“LOPEZ!”_ Deafening at close range, whatever else he may be. From the sheer volume, Blade had been expecting some big-engined muscle car or even a pickup truck, probably a producer or director. Seeing a little navy-blue forklift with an unmistakeable red cross on his side round the building was in no way, shape, or form what he had expected.

“You’re actually dumb enough to piss off your set medic?” Blade asked, not quite able to keep the incredulity out of his voice. Any actor should know better than that. Heck, the extras they rounded up at tractor-calls knew better than that! The two departments you never pissed off were craft services and medical, that was just common sense!

The little forklift stopped short a few feet from him, ignoring Lopez’s clearly visible skids on Blade’s far side, and squinted up at Blade for a long moment, apparently considering something. “You think he’s stupid?” the forklift asked, after an uncomfortably long moment of thoughtful silence. 

“Common sense not to piss off medics and craft services,” Blade answered, eyeing him a bit warily, and both the Dodge and the forklift snorted in unison.

“Nick _has_ no common sense,” the forklift answered, twisting one tine at an uncomfortable-looking angle to haul a bundle of papers out of his toolbelt. Blade caught a glimpse of the text on it when the forklift waved it at him; a script, something involving a stunt fall and... glue?! “That’s why he’s being cast the way he is. And that’s why you’re being cast the way _you_ are. What’s your name?”

“It’s, um, Blade. Blade Ranger.”

That resulted in an indecipherable mumble from the forklift, busy checking something on the last sheet of the script, before he shook the papers back into order with a satisfied nod.

“Blade Ranger, huh? Congratulations, kid. Hope you look good in blue.”

Wait. What?

“I thought he was the medic?” Blade asked, feeling dizzier than ever as the little forklift rolled off again at a brisk pace, apparently no longer out for Lopez’s oil. 

“Oh, he is,” Forest answered, shaking his head and smiling. “But Maru’s worked with Nick here before -” he nodded towards Lopez, who had hopped forward enough to peer after Maru around Blade’s nose - “and has a good grasp of who’ll work well with him. He’s smart, the casting director will listen to him.”

“Little brute’s half bulldozer anyway, if the rest of the crew didn’t listen, he’d just plow his opinion right through ‘em anyway. Force of nature!” Nick declared cheerfully.

“And you still put salt in his coffee.”

Nick grinned at him, broad and unapologetic, and started hopping back around the side of the building, following the course Maru had just taken. “Gotta have my fun where I can, Blaze. All work and no play, after all!” 

“I don’t think it’s actually _possible_ for you to be dull,” Blade pointed out, rolling around to follow him. 

Forest, following them both, snorted again. “You don’t know the half of it, Ranger. Welcome to the madhouse. And yes, the inmates are running it.”

“Maybe,” Nick called back, his voice quivering with mirth, “but I can promise you it’ll be one heck of a ride!” 

Blade didn’t doubt it for a minute.  
_________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rob Forest is a play on Robert Pine, the actor that played Sgt. Joe Getraer on CHiPs, among a laundry list of other roles. Also, and nowadays perhaps more notably, he is also the father of actor Chris Pine.
> 
> ‘Choppy’ - in CHiPs, the Highway Patrol officers were occasionally referred to as ‘Chippies’.
> 
> Larry Wilcox, who portrayed Jon Baker on CHiPs, did play the part of Corporal Mulligan in an episode of M*A*S*H, but he did not actually join Robert Pine in the less-than-well-reviewed 1977 flick Empire of the Ants, in which giant ants took over portions of the Florida Everglades. (I shit you not. Check IMDb.)
> 
> [ A stunt fall involving glue!](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQVQXMie8gA)
> 
> Craft services is the department responsible for providing the beverages, snacks, and food (depending on budget) on set, which is why it would be a bad idea to piss them off. (Catering, which provides the actual meals, is separate, but it probably wouldn’t be wise to piss them off, either.)


	2. What Might Have Been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapters 3 and 4 of All Hallowed. Nick dreams.

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Ghosts don’t dream.

I guess it’s not so surprising - it’s not like we have anything to look forward to. I’d gotten used to it; after all, I’d been dead now for longer than I’d been alive. 

That’s why it threw me a little, that night before Halloween, when I found myself alive again. (Mind you, the alive-again part threw me, too. If it’d been as much of a physical throw as it was mental, I think it’d have tossed me clear to Colorado.) And I’m not gonna lie, I was high off being alive again, being able to feel and touch, and boy, did I. Took my best shot at wearing Blaze and myself out that night, and we fell asleep with our sides pressed together, just wanting the contact. 

And for the first time in over thirty years, I dreamed. 

It was bizarre, the kind of smeared-lens soft-focus crap that TV shows had always used for dream sequences back in the day, but at least it was in color.

It was all just brief glimpses, a clip show of a dream. Me, surviving my crash. The writers integrating it into the plot, turning my wreck and rebuild into part of the show. CHoPs going on, reaching fifteen seasons. Blade and I, coming out as the series wrapped, being an ‘us’ in public, and not just when the hanger doors closed at night. 

Even in the dream, it halted our careers for a while; the nineties weren’t the greatest era for tolerance. I somehow wound up becoming a deputy for the real CHoPs Division - even bi, I guess I was good publicity. Blade went to stage acting for a while, since that just played to the stereotype anyway. But we both became activists in between that, campaigning for equality, offering youth support. Most of that was Blade, standing on stages in school auditoriums explaining to kids that it wasn’t the end of the world to be different, and occasionally going on news programs or into political kinds of places and arguing bigots and homophobes into stuttering incoherence. I was usually next to him on the auditorium stages, but watched the arguments from behind the camera. 

We’d agreed long before I ever died that it wasn’t a good idea to expose me to large amounts of politics. I still had a problem with my temper around excessive amounts of stupid. 

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell got repealed a whole lot quicker in the dream than it had in reality, and the option of marriage came around a lot sooner, too. Cali was actually the first state to offer it, and Blade and I almost fell over one another trying to propose first. 

We honeymooned at Piston Peak, saw a fire in the park, saw the Air Attack team that flew overhead to fight it.

We were young and brazen with stardom, still, and neither of us was too shy to go fly up to the Base when the firefighters came back in. In the dream, we must’ve spent hours talking to Cabbie - who thanked us for the work we’d done in getting DADT dead and buried where it belonged - and the old fire chief, a Chinook that must’ve busted spec by half a ton, because he looked a scrapload bigger than Windlifter.

The Chief was the one who suggested we take up firefighting, and we both threw ourselves into the training full throttle. Bein’ that we were still famous and all, Cad didn’t have a chance when he started eyeing the fire crew’s budget. 

And, bein’ still famous, we occasionally got called around to frigging random meet-and-greets and publicity things. Like congratulating a certain upstart Air Tractor who’d had the nerve to win a ‘round-the-world race. Turns out, when we stayed in the spotlight, the kid became a fan.

When Dusty’s gearbox started failing, he came to us just the same, asking if we could train him to fight fires. But he actually explained why from the start, and Maru had him fixed within the week. 

He got under the bridge with flying colors, nobody crashed, and the park didn’t nearly burn down because Cad had been fired six years ago, and the Superintendent was smart enough to work with the fire crew, not against them. 

Blade wasn’t the Chief, in the dreams - seventeen fewer years of experience, so it made sense - but he was competent and smart, and made Lieutenant quick enough, with me beside him and Maru behind him, usually waving a wrench. 

And we made it through fires and fear and familiar faces on the Wall, through Blade’s eventual promotion and his decision to turn the Base into a training center as well, all the way through to his retirement. 

And when we retired, it was to training positions, rather than active service, and the pair of us were still at Piston Peak when a ping on my radio woke me up, shaking so hard I was amazed Blade had slept through it. 

It took me a few minutes to answer Windlifter when he asked if I was all right - I was still here, that was the part that mattered, but... Chrysler, that dream!  


I told him I was okay, and even if I was a lousy liar he didn’t call me on it, just said he’d bring some coffee up. He’s a good guy, Windlifter, and even the eyebrow-raise he gave me over the coffee tray when I opened the door to him didn’t bug me the way it used to. 

“I am okay, Winds,” I told him, ‘cuz I could hear all the questions he wasn’t asking. “It’s just... more than I could have dreamed.”


	3. Unforgotten

**UNFORGOTTEN**

_*Hey, uh, Blaze? We may have a problem.*_

Well, that was never a good start to a conversation. Particularly not ten days into December, when Windlifter, Dipper, and Dusty were all off-base for the holidays.

Sighing, Blade clicked his radio on, ignoring Maru’s suspicious look. Nick had offered to take Blade’s scouting run today while Maru dragged Blade in for maintenance. Not strictly necessary maintenance, either - Maru had a habit of arbitrarily decreeing fluid flushes necessary for whomever he felt most annoyed with on that particular week, and Blade probably shouldn’t have put Maru’s high-grade on the Tower roof, regardless of whether or not Maru was violating Base policy by having it. “What kind of a problem?”

_*Rob’s here.*_

Blade took a second while his brain shifted gears from ‘the park is potentially burning down’ and got stuck somewhere around neutral. “What?”

_*Rob. Is here.*_

Yes, because not speaking in contractions would certainly explain everything. “Nick. Details.” 

An exasperated, gusty sigh. _*I thought Blackout was the one with the memory issues, not you. Robert Forest, you remember him? Old Dodge, used to spend a lot of time wearin’ a lightbar and yellin’ at us?*_

Blade could virtually feel his brain grinding back out of neutral, although the gear marked ‘Hollywood’ felt like it had seized up with rust. “The one who played Graeter?”

_*Ah, now he remembers. Yes, Graeter! He’s here!*_

“And you know this how?”

_*Because I saw him driving up to the Lodge, sweetheart. And before you ask, yes, I’m sure it’s him.*_

“Did he see you?” Blade wasn’t quite sure yet how concerned he should be about this. Cars tended to have poorer distance vision than aircraft in general, and Rob was several years Blade’s senior. But Rob had also known Nick before CHoPs, and Nick was sporting his old shade of burgundy as well, an uncommon choice at best for a helicopter. 

_*Pretty sure he did.*_ A long pause, then, _*Slag. Yep, he saw me. And recognized me, too, I’ll bet.*_

“Oh? Why are you laying odds on that?”

Nick’s snort carried clearly over the line. _*Because he’s headed for the Base road.*_

Well, this should be fun to explain. The general public might buy the ‘core rebuild‘ excuse, but Rob had been there when Nick went down. He knew damn well that there hadn’t been a core left to rebuild around.

“All right, come back to base. We’ll figure out an explanation. Blade out.” With a brief, weary shake of his head, Blade cut the connection and glanced sideways at the forklift, still brandishing a plastic bucket in an incomprehensibly threatening manner. “Maru, top me off and finish up.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to get your high-grade off the roof. I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

_____________________________________________________________

It took Rob less time than Blade had imagined to make it from the Lodge to the Base; Nick had parked with his side pressed against Blade’s, obviously tense, and his plating was still pinging with engine heat when the Dodge rolled from gravel onto concrete and slowed to a stop, eyeing them both with an unreadable expression. 

Cabbie and the Smokejumpers, who had either been eavesdropping on the radio conversation or were simply forewarned by the tension Nick was emitting in waves, had clustered at the edge of the runway, exchanging whispered, or, in the case of the Avalanche, not-so-whispered, arguments. 

“It’s the Sarge!”

“It can’t be. Can it?”

“It is!”

“Why would he be here, though?”

“MAYBE HE’S LOOKING FOR NICK!”

“Maybe you should shut up!”

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD MAKE ME!”

“Maybe _I_ should make you.” The last was Dynamite, her tone threatening, and the others fell silent in an instant. 

Rob flicked his eyes towards the cluster of Smokejumpers for a moment, and Dynamite sat up a little on her suspension, even as the others feigned innocence. “Welcome to Piston Peak Air Attack Base, sir.”

The old Dodge smiled, the expression wry. “I see Blade’s charm is doing its part to bring in new fans, still,” he remarked, ignoring Blackout and Drip’s startled squawks, Pinecone’s squeak, and Cabbie’s disdainful snort.

Indignant, Nick hopped free of Blade’s side. “Blade’s charm? Dammit, Rob, you know it was my pretty face bringin’ the fans in!”

Across the runway, Cabbie rolled his eyes, and Avalanche snickered his way through several loud, theatrical gagging noises, until Pinecone walloped him with her rake. 

“The key word in your sentence, Lopez, would be ‘was’,” Rob pointed out, rolling forwards a little ways to survey the chopper more closely. “Because for some reason, I’m pretty sure I remember you and your pretty face being in pieces on the asphalt thirty years ago.”

Neither Blade nor Nick could hide their winces, and Maru, still out of sight in the workshop, muttered a few curses that were just loud enough to drift out. Rob’s eyes flickered towards the familiar voice, but moved back to the two helicopters in short order. 

“When I saw a burgundy Hughes-cross overhead, I thought it was just a coincidence. And when you pulled that loop over the Lodge, I thought I was going crazy. But now, I’m starting to wonder if I’m sane and _everyone else_ here is going crazy.”

“Jus’ like the old days, huh Rob?” Nick grinned, but both the smile and the cheer in his voice were forced, and withered at the old Dodge’s flat look.

“Loop over the Lodge?” Maru rolled out of the doorway of the workshop, his eyes narrowed. “Nick. Haven’t we had the discussion about you and your loops over places with peculiar air currents, because we don’t want to repeat a _certain incident?_ ”

“It wasn’t - Chrysler, I can’t win around here,” Nick muttered, looking between Rob and Maru with wide eyes. “It was a horizontal turn, Maru, not a vertical loop. I’m not that stupid - don’t say it, Blaze.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Blade answered, his tone overwhelmingly innocent, and almost everyone within earshot snorted, Rob included.

“You know, I swear you forget you’re a helicopter,” Maru growled, lobbing a screwdriver out to bounce off of Nick’s side. “You have a zero-turn-radius in the air, you twit!”

Nick flicked his rotors in response, sheepish but not apologetic. “Zero-turns make me dizzy.”

“You do _barrel rolls!_ Don’t _those_ make you dizzy?”

“Nope. Bein’ upside down is fun, s’long as I can get upright again before the ground catches me.”

Watching the exchange, Rob shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe this. Thirty years ago I watch this clown faceplant into the side of a building, damn near watched you follow him,” he waved a tire at Blade, who grimaced sharply at the reminder, “and now, what? It never happened?”

“Trust me, it happened,” Blade, Nick, and Maru chorused in near-perfect unison, which set the Smokejumpers into a fit of giggles. 

“It’s a long story, Rob,” Blade added, his tone nearly apologetic. “And I’m not sure you’d believe it, anyway. Pits, there are days I don’t believe it, and I’ve got the proof right next to me!” 

“You’ve always had the proof right next to you,” Maru muttered in an undertone, and Rob’s eyes flickered between the three for a long moment. 

“I’m here for ten days, and I don’t think I have much choice in believing your story when Nick Lopez is here and sassing off at me again,” Rob offered quietly, after a long moment of thought. 

Blade and Nick exchanged glances, then turned back to the old Dodge in unison. “Well,” Nick began, “it started the day before Halloween...”

______________________________________________________________ 

“You’re right,” Rob conceded, nearly an hour later, toying with his cup of high-grade with one front tire. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Every word of it was the truth, I swear it,” Nick grinned, leaning comfortably against Blade’s side again. And every word of it had been - the truth may have been unbelievable, but any story short of the one they’d been propagating would have been less believable still. 

“I know that it’s _true_ , I just don’t _believe_ it,” Rob countered, waving a tire at them both in frustration. “It’s kind of a lot to take in!”

“I would say you get used to it, but -” Nick broke off, glaring over Rob’s head at the transparent form of the C-119’s nose shimmering slowly into view over the car’s roof. “Wally, if you scare him into engine failure, I am gonna bribe Windlifter into doing something horrible to you, you do realize that, right?”

Wally snorted. Audibly.

Although he’d never been an actual police officer, Rob still had the training they’d all endured all but beaten into his frame. Accelerating with a squeal of tires, he shot out from under the hovering ghost, swung a tight, hard turn to fall in beside Nick and Blade, and stared up at the transparent warplane. 

Ignoring the whoops and cheers of the Smokejumpers in the background and Cabbie all-but audibly rolling his eyes, Wally grinned brightly, drifting downwards until he was a vaguely appropriate height off the concrete. He was only partially visible, his belly and anything beyond the leading edge of his wings nothing more than an ethereal shimmer, but his size was still clear enough. “Hiya, Sarge.”

To his credit, Rob only took the space of a slow blink to get himself together, although his eyes did do a fast back-and-forth check of the Base, undoubtedly searching for Richter. “Hi, Wally. It’s an honor to meet you. And please, call me Rob.”

“You’ll have to excuse Wally,” Cabbie sighed, rolling forward. “He’s still getting used to being seen.”

“Being seen by anyone who’ll talk t’ me, ya mean,” the ghost grumbled back, drifting a few inches sideways, until the visible edges of his fuselage were settled against Cabbie’s own. “You got a lotta years of conversation to make up for.”

“I’ve got a lot of a lotta things to make up for,” Cabbie muttered, his tone half-growl, not flinching away from the frigid cold of the ghost at his side. Rob raised both eyebrows at them, but wisely didn’t comment. 

“Speakin’ of things folks are makin’ up for -” Nick piped up, leaning forward a bit to catch Rob’s line of vision again. “If the old gang’s still doin’ the annual New Year’s thing, I think Blade’s well overdue to host, huh?. Y’feel like extending your trip a bit, maybe callin’ a few of the others, see if they’re free? The Lodge doesn’t do much business that time of year, they’ll even comp the rooms if we ask nicely.”

Rob’s eyebrows raised further, the amusement in his expression growing. Blade turned enough to stare at Nick in disbelief, his rotors twitching slightly, but Nick just nuzzled him and grinned, shifting to lean against Blade, heavily enough that he tipped onto one skid. “C’mon, Blaze, you know you wanna see everyone again. Now that I’m here, you miss ‘em.”

“...I do,” Blade conceded, after a long moment. “All right. If they can come, we’d be glad to host.”

“Really, you two?” Rob chuckled. “That is awfully short notice. Are you planning on letting them in on the secret before or after they arrive?”

Blade bumped lightly against Nick to tip the smaller helicopter back onto both skids. “It’s the sort of thing better seen with proof, don’t you think?”

“If Maru doesn’t mind dealing with half a dozen cases of engine failure leading up to New Year’s, sure.”

“It wouldn’t be that many,” Nick objected. “Grossie’ll want to learn everything about the other side, Barry’ll just roll his eyes at me... Harlan’ll have a fit, sure, and Bonnie will shriek a lot, but I don’t think I’m scary enough to drop anybody.”

“Funny, I don’t recall you being big on underestimating yourself.”

“Hah hah. C’mon, Rob, help us out here! Blaze can’t just call ‘em out of the blue with the invite, everyone’ll think he’s snapped!”

“Oh, so you’re going to let them think I’ve snapped, instead?”

“Nah, you they still have faith in, I’ll bet.”

“I know better than to gamble against you, Lopez. Three decades, and my bank account still hasn’t recovered!”

“So you’ll do it, then?”

The Dodge opened his mouth, hesitated, and shook his head, but it was in resignation, not denial. “You know, you’re as crazy as ever,” Rob sighed. “And it’s just as contagious as ever, too. I left Betty down at the Lodge to handle check-in when I saw you; the pair of you may as well come down and haul my bumper out of the fire with her, and then we’ll see about those calls.”

In the background, the Smokejumpers let out a resounding cheer, which did very little to disguise Drip’s whoop of ‘Autographs!’ - or the clunk of Blackout’s saw against his canopy. 

Shaking his head, Rob chuckled softly. “I hope you two know what you’re getting yourselves into.”

Nick grinned broadly, leaning against Blade’s side again. “When have we ever? Look, after we get down there - and explain me to Betty - you two deal with the calls, and I’ll clear gettin’ everyone rooms with Jammer, okay?”

Blade raised his eyebrows, shooting Nick a suspicious look out of the corner of his eye. “Sure, Nick, that’ll work. You want to go ahead, and we’ll meet you down there?”

“Can do,” Nick answered cheerfully, and gave Blade a kiss that drew wolf-whistles and gagging noises in roughly equal measure from the Smokejumpers before bounding away and lifting off.

Rob and Blade watched him go, their expressions mingled degrees of amusement and suspicion. 

“He’s planning something,” Blade sighed, watching Nick pull a fast, exuberant roll over the valley before straightening up and heading for the Lodge. “And damned if I can figure out what it is.”

Rob’s returning stare was incredulous. “You can’t? I’ve been here two hours and have a damned good idea!”

“Then you -”

“Will be allowing you to find out for yourself,” Rob interrupted smoothly, starting his engine and turning towards the road. “Come on, if we leave him in charge of organizing the rooms it’ll be like August of ’81 all over again.”

Blade’s engines stuttered momentarily. “You swore never to mention that!”

“No, _you_ swore never to mention that. _I_ was sober for the whole time, and made no such promise.”

“The fact that you were sober the whole time means you should have been the first to make that promise.”

“No, it just means I was the first to take pictures. And before you ask, yes, I still have them.”

Groaning, Blade put power to his rotors and took off for the Lodge. Rob, meanwhile, turned and glanced back, and, finding several attentive gazes on him, shot a quick wink at them before rolling off.

“All right, autographs! This is gonna be awesome!” Drip laughed, pirouetting one one tread before bolting for the Smokejumper hanger. “I’ve gotta make sure I’ve got cast pictures!” 

“You keep out of my collection, _cabron!_ ” Blackout shouted, and took off after him. The other three followed, already laying bets on how many dents Maru would have to hammer out of each of their teammates before the impending brawl finished. 

Rolling his eyes at their departing bumpers, Maru rolled out of his workshop and fell in beside Cabbie and Wally as the big plane rolled back to his hanger, settling at the radio outside. Establishing a familiar connection was short work for him, and in under a minute a crisply accented voice had picked up the other end of the line. 

“Wind-Lucas residence. What’s the word, boys?”

“Nick’s thinking New Year’s Eve, apparently, with a guest list that may include the entire cast of CHoPs,” Maru drawled, leaning up to the microphone. “Think you can make that happen?”

The snort that carried over the line was backed by a low, familiar chuff of laughter. “We can,” Windlifter replied. “Jammer has already said that he is happy to help.”

“And I’ve been planning this since Halloween,” Elizabeth added, “well before Nick actually considered asking. We knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, thirty-six years,” Maru huffed. “And Blade still hasn’t got the first clue.”

“Well, there’s a reason he was never written as a detective candidate,” Elizabeth pointed out, laughing softly. “Let’s just worry about giving him the best start to the New Year, shall we?”

“Roger that,” Wally grinned, leaning over Cabbie’s wing. “T-minus twenty-one days. Operation Happily Ever After is on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to argue with SO MANY of the characters for this one - they all wanted to show that they’re in on The Plan. Which at this point involves.... pretty much everyone on the Base except Blade, plus Elizabeth, Jammer, and the majority of the Lodge’s staff. And Rob, as well, because Getraer was always very good at being sneaky and underhanded when it meant the best for his favorite dynamic duo, and I really can’t see Rob being any different.
> 
> While I don’t know _precisely_ what happened in August of ’81, what I was told is that the participants were very drunk, very loud, and a certain pair of helicopters would have been very arrested for indecent exposure and lewd conduct if the CHoPs cast hadn’t rented out the entire private beach for the weekend. I’m sure we can extrapolate. I’m also sure it was Nick’s fault. (Because it’s always Nick’s fault.)
> 
> _Cabron_ \- while this literally translates to ‘male goat’, the phrase is used among multiple Spanish-speaking countries for meanings ranging from ‘dude’ to ‘asshole’ to ‘man who’s being cheated on by his significant other.’ Blackout’s usage is somewhere between the first two.


	4. Operation: Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the characters appearing in this chapter will be Nick and Blade’s old CHoPs castmates. Rather than drive myself crazy trying to come up with new names for everyone, I’ve simply borrowed a few CHiPs characters (all property of MGM, no infringement intended, etc. etc.), names included, played around turning them into vehicles, and gone from there. The cast includes:
> 
>  **Jeb Turner** \- Played by Michael Dorn (who would later go on to play Worf in multiple incarnations of Star Trek), Jeb is a laid-back, good-humored cop. Here, he’s a navy blue Chevy K-5 Blazer.
> 
>  **Harlan Arliss** \- the CHP’s fussy, meticulous mechanic was two inches too short to qualify for his dream job of becoming a CHP motorcycle officer, but he’s become an indispensable part of the team regardless. Due to his habit of always wearing an immaculate white lab coat, he’s a white pitty with bronze detailing here.
> 
>  **Artie Grossman** \- the only part of this motor cop that moves faster than his brain is his mouth! ‘Grossie’ is fascinated by new subjects, and constantly studies and learns - much to the consternation of his teammates, when he attempts to disseminate all of his accumulated information! Here, he’s a 1964 Pontiac Catalina, and has elected to be beige for reasons I honestly cannot fathom. 
> 
> **Barry Baricza** \- a knowledgeable pilot whose family business is crop dusting, ‘Bear’ - nicknamed in part because of his towering 6’4” height - is a steady, level-headed cop. Here, he’s a blue-and-tan Antonov An-2, the largest single-engine biplane in history. _(They’re just over 40 feet long, with an upper wingspan of nearly sixty feet, and are able to carry a load of 4,700lbs! A Short Take Off and Landing, or STOL craft, they can also fly very, very slowly - their stall speed is somewhere around 30mph, which, if the plane is pointed into a strong headwind at minimum speed, means the plane can be flown backwards and remain under control.)_
> 
> **Bonnie Clark** \- blonde bombshell Officer Clark is as hot-tempered and independent as they come, but she’s also a great cop and always the first one to lend a helping hand. Here, she’s a brilliant blue 1970 Corvette. 
> 
> Also among the extras is my recurring OC, Elizabeth, who is the Special Events Coordinator for the Lodge, and has been doing a great deal of work on Nick’s party. There are a couple more, but they’re surprises, ;-)

  
**OPERATION: HAPPILY EVER AFTER**

 

______________________________________________________

_Soft music played over the CHoPs set; staticky vinyl, rather than the clearer, smoother sound of the eight-tracks echoed tinnily off the exposed rafters. Predictably for near midnight at the New Year’s party, the current song was ‘Auld Lang Syne’._

_The tiny helicopter clicked her tongue disapprovingly at him. ‘Start the new year as you mean to go on,’ Maria Lopez chided Blade, tapping his nose sharply with one of her rotor blades. ‘Go and be with my son. You make each other happy.’_

_‘Do you think we can stay this happy?’ Blade countered, glancing across the briefing room set to where Nick waited for him, under the mistletoe hung in the doorway. He was chatting quietly with Bonnie, but she was parked a body-length away from him, out of the plant’s range._

_‘If you always love each other as much as you do now, I can’t see why not,’ Mrs. Lopez replied, and gave Blade a sharp nose-bump towards the other end of the set. ‘It’s almost midnight, so go kiss that boy of mine before he overheats waiting for you!’_

_‘Yes, Maria,’ Blade laughed, rolling to meet his partner as the rest of the cast took up the countdown to midnight. As soon as his lips touched Nick’s, though, the other helicopter vanished into nothingness -_

\- and Blade woke up with a startled grunt, in his own hanger at Piston Peak, to find the floor beside him empty. A sharp, momentary stab of fear cut through him, dissipating a split-second later when he caught sight of the oversized, fluorescent-orange Post-It stuck to the inside of his hanger door. 

_‘Gone on patrol. Good luck @ your meeting. Love you!’_

Groaning, Blade swallowed a profanity or six and stretched up on his landing gear. A glance out the window informed him that December thirty-first had dawned clear and bright - perfect weather for a party, certainly, although that didn’t help his decidedly overcast mood. The dream certainly hadn’t helped, either; Mrs. Lopez had never been informed of their true relationship. She’d unreservedly welcomed Blade as Nick’s friend, even calling him _mi hijo_ \- my son - within weeks of their introduction, but Nick had never suggested that Blade was anything more. 

Nick, so fearless in the rest of his life, had never found the courage to come out to his family, before or after his death. 

Nick’s father had been out of the picture for years even before Nick’s death, but his mother and sister had been overjoyed beyond description to learn of Nick’s resurrection. They’d flown out to the park in the early weeks of November, not long after the first winter rains rolled through. Blade, not willing to sabotage their joy with any news that Maria and Patti might have considered unwelcome, had hung uneasily around the edges of the family’s tearful reunion, wishing he could offer his partner more comfort than a few reassuring gazes. 

It wasn’t the most palatable of thoughts on top of an already-sour mood. “Start the year as you mean to go on, my tailfin. Wake up without my partner to a Post-It and a budget meeting. Tonight had better be -" 

“Are you talking to yourself again?” demanded Maru’s voice from outside the hanger. Without waiting for a response, the forklift rolled the door open, delivering a blast of sunlight directly into Blade’s face. 

Ignoring the resulting growl, Maru rolled in uninvited, carrying a cup of coffee and an apple-cinnamon roll balanced neatly on a tray. The salivation-worthy smells rising from both items told Blade that while the roll was of Maru’s making, the coffee was definitely not. 

“Here,” the forklift chuckled, depositing the tray on Blade’s desk, nudging it expertly between two piles of mostly-completed paperwork. “Nick apologizes for being gone before you woke up, and says he will see you for the party tonight, as planned. Jammer also apologizes, but asks that you get your tail down to the Lodge by ten for the meeting, and hopefully you’ll be done by two -” 

“ _By two?!_ We’ve been having budget meetings all year, why is the annual review going to take four hours?!” 

“Blame Cad,” Maru shrugged. “Rob will meet the other cast members if they get here before your meeting ends, and Liz is borrowing Dusty, Dipper, Windlifter, and the Smokejumpers to help set up for the party.” 

“Borrowing Windlifter? It’s off-season, doesn’t she technically have him anyway?” 

“I’m just repeating what she said. Cabbie’s gonna stay up here with me and babysit Nick and Wally until the party.” 

“Wally requires a babysitter now?” 

“Cabbie says otherwise he’ll follow Rob around demanding embarrassing stories about you and Nick during filming.” 

“Wonderful. See if Windlifter can get Richter on babysitting duty, too.” 

“You _are_ kidding, right?” 

He was. Sort of. Maybe. 

“Very funny, Blade. Eat your breakfast, go to your meeting, try not to kill any board members, and remember that you have to be sociable tonight.” 

Blade flicked his rotors at Maru and dug into the roll.  
__________________________________________________________ 

_9:55 A.M._

Almost the instant Blade cleared Canopy Dome, Nick popped up from... somewhere in the valley below the Base, almost vibrating with tension as he set down on the overlook, and watched anxiously until Blade touched down in front of the Lodge. 

“Okay,” Nick murmured, watching as Blade rolled into the building, “we’re clear. Huddle up!” 

“This is ridiculous,” grumbled Cabbie, ignoring Wally’s soft laughter from over his wing. 

“So you’ve said,” sighed Dynamite, her tone suggesting she didn’t particularly disagree, but both of them took their places in the loose circle anyway. 

“Okay, we’ve got -” Nick shot a brief glance at the clock on the workshop wall, which read three minutes to ten. “Seven hours to zero time. Everyone remembers how this is gonna go down, right? Jammer’s said that the meetings should last until two. Rob’s kept in contact with the group from CHoPs that’s comin’ in, they’re supposed to be here by one, but they’re always late, so we’re callin’ it one-thirty. Windy, Dusty, Dipper, Jumpers, you guys are gonna be at the Lodge, helpin’ with setup, and you’ll greet them when they get there -” 

Drip and Blackout’s whoops only paused Nick for a moment. 

“Cabbie ‘n’ me’ll be staying up here with Maru and Patch, and we’ll meet Blade’s buddies when they come in. They’re gonna hide out up here until it’s about time.” 

“Kinda hard to hide a plane _that_ size anywhere,” Maru snorted, earning himself a narrow-eyed look from Nick. “Also, it’s been ‘about time’ for thirty-plus years.” 

“Longer than that,” contributed Wally’s voice, from his near-invisible shimmer over Cabbie’s wing, and Cabbie gave a soft snort in response. 

“Sixty-some for you, thirty-some for us, can we _get on with this, please?_ ” 

“Your tension is disruptive, Nick,” Windlifter admonished, ignoring the smaller helicopter’s growl and the rest of the team’s amusement. “Breathe, and relax.” 

The string of Spanish that erupted from Nick in response was definitely not relaxed, if Blackout’s shocked expression and Maru’s hysterical laughter were any indication. 

Sighing, Dusty shifted enough to cautiously prod Nick in the side with one wingtip. He got another growl for his trouble, but when the offending wingtip didn’t get bitten, he felt reassured enough to proceed. “Nick, relax. We know what this means to you - what it’s going to mean to _both_ of you. We’re not going to screw it up.” 

“I don’t think you’re gonna screw up,” Nick snapped back, “it’s just -” 

"Screw up? And miss Blade laughing again?” Maru spoke up, gesturing broadly with his tines and nearly spilling his uncapped coffee cup. “Not on your li - uh, not a chance!” 

“That’s not what - 

“You being happy means the Boss being happy, and vice-versa.” Dynamite pointed out, jabbing a tire at Nick. “You really think we’d screw _that_ up?” 

“I’m just -” 

“Afraid,” Windlifter broke in, his quiet voice overriding the others’ chatter, and Nick’s sharp nod silenced the rest. 

“Scared outta my mind,” Nick confessed, his smile rueful. “Won’t change much, but it’ll still change everything.” 

“For the better,” Windlifter assured him, as Dusty gave Nick another careful nudge with his wingtip. 

“We’re going to make tonight the best night of your life,” Dipper promised, bouncing a little on her wheels, and Nick finally smiled in return. 

“Okay, just remember, my castmates -” 

“ - don’t know you’re alive.” Cabbie sighed. 

“And Blade can’t -” 

“ - see you before tonight, we _know!_ ” Dynamite barked at him, earning a sheepish grin. 

Dusty, shaking his head slightly, shot a look at Nick from the corner of his eye. “What I want to know is why you’re the -” 

“Because I’m the pretty one, kiddo,” Nick interrupted, ignoring several eyerolls and the Smokejumpers’ laughter. 

“All right, y’all,” Patch spoke up, waving a tine for quiet as she glanced towards the clock on the workshop wall. “Time is ten a.m.. Elizabeth’s expecting her group at the Lodge in half an hour, so get your breakfast and get moving.” 

“Get to it, folks!” Maru crowed, and the team scattered with whoops of laughter.  
________________________________________________________ 

_12:15 P.M._

_*You know, I’m still not sure what we’re doing here.*_

That made two of them. A radio invitation from someone they barely knew, to a party that wasn’t for them, for reasons that had never been specified. And yet, here they were, flying in on New Year’s Eve, as a surprise for Blade. 

Friendship was a remarkable and mysterious force, sometimes. 

“Me either,” she radioed back, not bothering to hide her smile as she switched frequencies. “Piston Peak Air Attack Tower, SP67, flight of two inbound.” 

_*Piston Peak Air Attack Tower has you in sight, SP67. SH114’s hard to miss.*_

_*You didn’t miss me? Aw, you’re gonna hurt my feelings!*_

Closing your eyes when you were on approach to an airstrip built on top of a sheer cliff was really not the best idea, but occasionally the sheer resignation to her actual life could not be denied. “Tower... request permission to land. What you do with him once he’s on the ground is your choice.” 

She was relatively sure she could hear Patch snickering on the other end of the radio. _*Cleared to land, SP67. SH114, stand by to land, and watch your wingtips on the structures when you come in. Maru’s too busy to do repair work today.*_

_*SH114 copies. Don’t you have any faith in my flying, Patch?*_

_*In your flying, yes,* came Patch’s wry response. *Just not your judgement. Blade’s told me too much.*_

In the end, it was Orbit, not Thrust, who nearly slid off the runway, laughing too hard to see. 

When she had gotten herself sorted and rolled over to the workshop to get out of Thrust’s way, she found a small burgundy-and-black helicopter with a strut-melting smile waiting, his eyes flicking between her and Thrust, who was making what qualified as a pinpoint landing for something his size. 

“Your partner’s got some talent,” the chopper offered with a grin, his words revealing a smooth, melodic accent. Puerto Rico, by way of... Chicago, maybe? She was pretty sure she’d never met him before - a smile like that, she’d have remembered - but he seemed very familiar all the same. “For a big guy, he sure can stick a landing.” 

Orbit barely suppressed a snort, pushing the chopper’s nagging familiarity to the back of her mind for the moment. “Ask him about Hayward sometime.” The Tower Control operators probably still had nightmares about that one. 

“Oh, let me guess. Down two engines, in the rain, on an airstrip designed for something half his size?” 

Orbit stared, thankful that she’d managed to keep her mouth from dropping open in shock. “How -?” They certainly hadn’t mentioned the incident to Blade - he had enough stress in his life without them relating every one of Thrust’s little mishaps. Or big mishaps. 

In response, the chopper stiffened one rotor - just one, which she hadn’t known was physically possible - to point towards the Tower. “Patch went to an ATC conference not that long ago. Your boy’s getting to be the stuff of legends.” 

Oh, Ford, just scrap her now. “...it was one engine. Two reversers.” 

“My mistake,” the helicopter chuckled. Even his _laugh_ was weirdly familiar, although she was very sure she’d never met him before. Quite unhelpfully, he didn’t have a nickname painted anywhere she could see, and he was sitting at enough of an angle to her that she could only read the first three digits of his registry number, S91. Which was... weird, but equally unhelpful. 

“Talkin’ about me behind my tail?” Thrust asked, rolling up to them, and the chopper smiled up at him just as brightly as he’d smiled at Orbit. 

“Only if you turn around.” 

Thrust grinned hugely, and Orbit resisted the urge to plant her head in the nearest wall. Making jokes at Thrust encouraged him, and if there was one thing Thrust did _not_ need, it was encouragement. 

“What, and leave a looker like you unattended with my girl?” 

The chopper laughed in response, low and easy. “Obviously you haven’t figured out why you’re here. I’m the one savin’ Blaze from the single life.” 

_Blaze._

Once, a lot of years ago and on the tail of a very, very bad week, Thrust had dared to call Blade ‘Blaze,’ just as a harmless joke, and the resulting explosion had honestly made her fear for Thrust’s safety. When Blade finally stopped looking like he both wanted to cry and take Thrust’s plating off with his teeth, he’d said, in the voice of one clinging to sanity by a fraying thread, that the only one who ever called him that was - 

“Nick Lopez?!” 

Both Thrust and the helicopter turned to look at her, the chopper still smiling, and yes, that was where she knew that smile, from grainy, pirated episodes of Blade’s old TV show. 

"That’s me,” the chopper grinned back, and all Orbit could do was stare. 

“You’re.... alive?” Because she’d been pretty sure that hadn’t been the case. Could recall more than a few sources - including Blade himself - stating the exact opposite, actually. 

“Yep. Core stasis is a slagging boring way to spend thirty years, by the way, I don’t recommend it,” Nick grinned back, but there was a slight tightness around the corners of his eyes that made her wonder if he was telling her the entire truth. Or any truth, actually - he didn’t seem like a very good liar. 

Also, Nick had a unique body - predominantly a Hughes 369, but the hingeless rotor system was unquestionably from an MBB line, and that wasn’t a mix that had been seen before or since. Short of a complete, customized body rebuild to go with the core transplant, she had no idea how he’d have regained his original form. 

“So, you’re the guy Bladey-boy was mourning for thirty years?” 

Orbit winced. Tact. Thrust had none of it, sometimes. And here she was, in a social situation, with Thrust, and once again she’d forgotten her duct tape. 

It didn’t seem like Nick minded much, though; he turned back to Thrust, grinning up at him with an expression better suited to a large predator. 

“What can I say, I’m just that good.” Nick paused, tilting his head slightly as he regarded the massive plane. “What’s the matter, fanboy? Jealous?” 

It took her a second to work through, even as Thrust barked with laughter. Fanboy. Turbofans. 

Wonderful. They’d reached the bonding-over-the-exchange-of-bad-puns stage of friendship already. And oh, look, there was a nice, quiet piece of tarmac over there, which, while not out of earshot, was at least a distance away from any walls that she might be tempted to beat her head against. 

Even as she rolled away, she could hear Thrust laughing. “Nope. Blade’s cute, but you can have him. I’ve got mine.” Pausing, she glanced back at them and caught Thrust’s deliberately affectionate-bordering-on-sappy glance in her direction. 

“Oh, do you?” Smirking, Nick leaned up a bit, whispering something to Thrust, quietly enough that Orbit couldn’t hear. Thrust’s wide-eyed, _oh-slag_ expression was fairly telling, though. 

“Nick, any evidence you gained while being an invisible, intangible sneak is not admissible in arguments,” barked a vaguely familiar voice from across the runway. Nick gave a theatrical wince and a sheepish twitch of his rotors in response, and hopped a couple lengths away from Thrust as the owner of the voice, a brawny and rather irritable-looking C-119, rolled across the tarmac towards them. 

Filing away the _invisible, intangible sneak_ portion of the comment away for later bewilderment, Orbit searched her memory for a moment before coming up with a name for the plane. They’d met most of Blade’s team once, in passing, but it had been a while ago and in the midst of a hard season. “Captain McHale?” 

The warplane paused in his rapid roll, glancing down at her with a nod. “Call me Cabbie, Ms. Slipstream. I’m glad you and Skyhigh could make it.” He’d been the one to radio them with the invitation; when she had questioned why they were being invited to a party for the old CHoPs cast, she’d heard laughter in the background - laughter she now realized had belonged to Nick Lopez himself, Blade’s long-lost partner. 

The explanation that his core had been in stasis for three decades didn’t even _begin_ to fly with her, but she’d wrangle the real story out of Blade later. 

“Orbit,” she corrected, “and Thrust. Trust me, neither of us stands on ceremony.” 

“I’m beginning to see that,” Cabbie answered wryly, as Thrust let out a sudden yelp and jerked away from... whatever the Pits Nick was doing underneath his port wing. Orbit had a feeling she didn’t want to know. 

“I would apologize for him, but if I started, I’d never stop,” she sighed, watching as Thrust tried to contort himself enough to bite Nick’s rotors. The small helicopter roared with laughter, dodging under Thrust’s wing again. 

“I’ve got one like that, too,” Cabbie assured her with a sigh, and Orbit knew full well she wasn’t imagining the indignant _‘hey!’_ that sounded from somewhere over the warplane’s starboard wing. 

She distinctly did not remember this park being quite this crazy the last time she’d been here. Of course, the last time she’d been here, half the place had been _on fire_ , so. There was that. 

Clearly reading the expression on her face, Cabbie gave a low chuff of laughter and a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. It’s just as crazy as you think, but you get used to it.” 

“Was that supposed to be _reassuring?!_ ” bellowed another apparently disembodied voice, before a purple-and-grey forklift poked his head out from behind a pile of boxes heaped in the corner of the workshop. So Maru _was_ here - she’d been starting to wonder. “Because your aim’s usually better than that.” 

“No it ain’t, why do you think he prefers live cargo?” came the disembodied voice again, clear and definite, and Cabbie shut his eyes and heaved a deep sigh of resignation. 

“Wally...” 

“I know, I know, keep quiet, stay outta sight. I’m still not used to people hearing me,” grumbled the voice, as the transparent form of a second C-119 slowly shimmered into view over Cabbie’s wing. Orbit stared in utter disbelief. “Sixty years is a long time to get over, y’know.” 

“Tell me about it,” muttered Nick, hopping under Cabbie’s port wing, with a curious Thrust trailing close behind. “Wally, how the heck did you ever wind up on _covert missions?_ You can’t keep a secret to save your...” he trailed off, grimacing, when Cabbie tipped him a spectacularly sarcastic look. “Never mind.” 

“Blade didn’t tell us Piston Peak was _haunted_ ,” Thrust declared, somehow sounding both insulted and overjoyed by this observation, edging slowly into Cabbie’s personal space as he tried to get a better look at the ghost currently on the other side of the warplane’s body. 

“He didn’t know until six months ago. And Wally’s not haunting Piston Peak, he’s haunting _me,_ ” Cabbie replied, shooting the Tristar a warning glare that had no appreciable effect whatsoever. “That sort of thing seems to happen around here.” 

“It does?” 

“ _No_ , Thrust,” Orbit snapped, the words an automatic response to her partner’s ‘ooh-pick-me!’ tone, before it actually processed that she was telling him _he could not acquire a pet ghost_. 

“Aaand there’s the brain-breakage,” chuckled Nick, who’d been watching her expression. “Now, since the Caterpillar’s out of the bag, why don’t I tell you my real story...”  
___________________________________________________ 

_12:59 P.M._

“ _That’s_ the Grand Fusel Lodge?” squawked a shrill voice as a small parade of vehicles rounded a turn on the narrow valley road, catching a brief glimpse of the towering structure through the trees. “ _That?!_ It looks like some kid forgot their Lincoln Logs in the middle of the forest!” 

The big Chevrolet K-5 gave an amused huff, angling one side mirror enough to look back at the white-and-bronze pitty sulking on the trailer behind him, scowling at the surrounding woods once again hiding the Lodge. “Harlan, anyone ever tell you that traveling makes you cranky?” 

“No,” the pitty answered sourly. “Most of you fear for your engines if you insult me.” The tone suggested that perhaps Jeb, the K-5, should have fallen in with the majority, but was dismissed with an easy chuckle. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so easily insulted, then. Aren’t you looking forward to seeing Blade again, after all these years?” 

“Oh, sure. Of course I’m looking forward to seeing our crazy ex-cast mate who’s elected to isolate himself in a forest rather than remain in civilized surroundings." 

Behind the trailer, the beige Pontiac Catalina lifted up slightly on his suspension to catch Jeb’s eye in the mirror. “And by ‘civilized,’ he means ‘without dirt.’” 

“Caught that on my own, Grossie, thanks.” 

“Well, _I’m_ looking forward to it,” piped up the defiant voice of the Corvette at the back of the line. “Ford knows some fresh air would do us all some good.” 

The Pontiac’s antenna gave a horrified quiver. “But I _like_ the smog! I’m accustomed to running on city air! If I over-oxygenate - ow!!” 

“If you dent yourself, Bonnie, I’m not repairing it,” Harlan snapped, crossing his forks and continuing the sulk that had started some two and a half weeks ago, when the annual CHoPs New Year’s Reunion Party had been moved from his preferred venue near San Francisco to a semi-isolated southern California park on the request of Robert Forest, their former fearless leader. 

“Why,” Bonnie sighed backing off of Grossman’s bumper and rolling her eyes skyward to pick out the familiar shape of the huge biplane, currently looping slowly back over the treeline to check the progress of their little convoy, “didn’t I just fly in with Barry?” 

“Because that carry-harness arrangement you use is six inches from a public indecency charge, and we’re trying to make a good impression!” Jeb called back from the front of the line. 

“As good of an impression as I’m going to make in Harlan and Grossie’s faces if they doesn’t stop whining?” 

Overhead, the biplane pulled a lazy bank away from the road, although not before the sound of his laughter drifted down, not quite obscured by the roar of his engine. _*Why am I suddenly very glad that only five of us could make it?*_

“Probably because you’re the smart one,” Jeb sighed. “You can fly away from this parade any time, while the rest of us are stuck down here with an antsy mechanic climbing up our tailpipes.” 

“Hey!!” 

“Harlan, if you don’t like it, park it and shut up,” Bonnie growled, and the little pitty was just opening his mouth to deliver an undoubtedly scathing retort when Barry broke in over their radios again. _*Hey, can you guys see that red plane by the Lodge? Does he look familiar to anybody?*_

“Have you forgotten the small matter of several hundred trees in between us and - oh.” Harlan fell silent as the convoy rounded another turn, emerging into an enormous clearing. The Grand Fusel Lodge - much grander from this distance than it had been from the earlier curve - dominated the clear space, dwarfing the dozen or so vehicles swarming around in front of it. 

The only planes by the Lodge were a yellow-and-red Super Scooper and a small pontoon plane in firefighter livery, who appeared to be helping a cluster of pitties and various earthmover types setting up tables, under the direction of a cobalt-blue Jaguar and an enormous green Sikorsky Skycrane. 

“Who, the guy with the pontoons? Can’t say he does, Barry, sorry,” Jeb radioed back, to various, distracted sounds of agreement from Harlan and Grossman. 

“Maybe a little? I can’t place him, though. He might look familiar with a different paint job?” Bonnie offered, drifting into the opposite lane to get a better glimpse of him around the vehicles in front of her. 

_*Don’t worry about it,*_ Barry murmured, meandering a few feet upward. _*He’s probably just one of the air crew. Switching to Air Control, see you guys when I’ve landed.*_

“Break a gear!” Grossie called after him, and Bonnie clenched her teeth to resist the urge to knock his bumper again.  
___________________________________________________ 

_1:01 P.M._

“Avalanche, nudge that table another two inches - right there, perfect.” Elizabeth nodded, then pulled a tight turn to survey the rest of the courtyard. Pinecone and Blackout were rolling past in the company of a trio of staff pitties, headed for the arbor that lead to the garden on the eastern side of the Lodge, all of them burdened with small, neatly-labeled packing totes. 

Dusty, looking amusedly resigned, was balancing a stack of three folding tables on the front of his pontoons, very carefully rolling them to wherever the two pitties working with him needed to set them up. Dynamite, trailing behind him, was carrying several folded tablecloths on her parachute mount, and Drip, trailing behind her, was making quick work of getting them shaken out and spread on the tables. Avalanche was rolling cheerfully around the courtyard, nudging and straightening things here and there at Liz’s behest. 

Dipper and Windlifter had been set to the normally arduous task of hauling firewood for the stone fire pits that were scattered throughout the Lodge’s courtyard and gardens, and made short work of a job that usually took the pitties hours. 

“Done already?” Liz asked, arching an eyebrow as the Sikorsky rolled wordlessly up beside her, brushing his nose against her fender in greeting. “I should drag you down here more often." 

Windlifter hummed back absently, his eyes turned upward as he searched the sky for... something. It was a few more seconds before she heard it; an airplane engine, a loud one, belonging to a craft that was flying slowly and, if the wavering pitch was any indication, not in a particularly straight line. 

“It’s just gone one,” she remarked, after a rapid check of her internal clock. “Could well be Blade’s old castmates - Baricza’s an An-2, he’s not exactly quiet, and it sounds like he’s following the road in.” 

“Either that, or we’re expecting an intoxicated Otter,” Dusty muttered as he rolled back up to them, divested of the tables he’d been carrying. 

“Oh, that would be bad, someone else flying into the middle of Nick and Blade’s - party!” Dipper nearly stumbled over the last word; Nick’s manic insistence on secrecy over the last three weeks had them all overly conscious of letting the plans slip. 

“Oh, we’ve taken precautions against party crashers, my dear,” Elizabeth chuckled, her smile taking on a faintly vicious edge. 

Eyeing her a bit warily, Dusty sighed and took the bait. “Do we want to know?” 

Elizabeth and Windlifter exchanged glances, and Liz smiled a smile that made Dusty and Dipper both roll backwards several feet out of sheer, instinctual, self-preservation, much to Windlifter’s smirking amusement. 

“Richter has offered to patrol the area surrounding the Lodge to ensure the festivities remain private,” Liz explained, her accent at its most distinct and precise as she struggled not to laugh at the expressions of the two planes. “He’s been fully briefed on the guest list, of course, including the four most recent additions, and is quite capable of scaring off anyone attempting to intrude.” 

“Wow, you guys are amazing,” Dipper squealed, her flaps giving an excited quiver. “How did you manage to talk him into that? I always thought he was supposed to be really awful and cranky and antisocial!” 

“He was,” Windlifter answered, his rotors giving a vague twitch. “But I believe he has become lonely since his death, and, seeing the acceptance that Wally and Nick have achieved among us, desires the same for himself. And we did not talk him into anything; he made the offer of his own free will.” 

“....you think he’s getting lonely,” Dusty repeated, a bit incredulously. “I thought this guy _wanted_ to be alone?” 

“Ah, extroverts,” sighed Elizabeth, her eyes shifting upwards in what could have been either an eyeroll or a glance at the huge biplane meandering out from over the forest and beginning a slow circle towards the runway. “It’s entirely possible to be lonely in a crowded room, if you can’t find common ground with the people in it. Speaking of which,” she added, nodding up towards the biplane, “you and Baricza should have a good bit of common ground between you, all of it covered in corn. He’s a former crop-duster as well.” 

“Wow, that segue was -" 

“Don’t say it, Crophopper.” 

“ _Corny_ ,” Dusty grinned, rolling backwards as Liz took a swipe at him with one front tire. 

“At least he refrained from fertilizer jokes,” Windlifter pointed out, as Dusty rolled towards the taxiway to greet Baricza, chuckling the whole way.  
_______________________________________________________________ 

_1:48 P.M._

“So, how has Blade been doing, really?” 

Dusty took a slow sip of his oil as he considered the question, uncomfortably aware of the weight of three anxious gazes upon him. Baricza had proven to be just as laid-back and steady as his character, and the pair of them had bonded quickly over the shared trials of crop dusters on the steep flight to fame. Bonnie, the Corvette, reminded him a lot of Dottie - genuinely kind and caring, with a temper you didn’t want to set off. Grossman, at Dusty’s casual introduction of ‘Hi, I’m Dusty, I’m one of Blade’s firefighters,’ had promptly - and _loudly_ \- declared Dusty’s full identity to everyone around them. 

The pitty, Harlan, had promptly begun asking questions about Dusty’s engine tuning, which had proven uncomfortable enough that Dynamite had brought her entire team to his rescue, sweeping Harlan off to Ford-knew where, with an amused Jeb trailing behind, chatting amiably with Avalanche and Blackout. 

Finally swallowing his oil, Dusty glanced back up, meeting Baricza’s penetrating gaze. “Well, I only met him back in July, so I really don’t know how he usually is. He’s just... Blade.” 

Which, if the looks Bonnie and Barry were exchanging were any indication, was not going to hold up as an explanation. Stalling, Dusty took another long drink. 

“They want to know if he’s still suicidal.” 

Dusty choked on his second mouthful, sputtering miserably and coughing until it finally cleared out of his exhaust. _“What?!”_

Bonnie swung one tire out and dealt the Pontiac a solid blow to the left front fender. “Grossie! That was thirty years ago - and private!” 

“He tried to throw himself off a twenty-five story building in downtown L.A.!” Grossman protested, earning himself another tire-knock and a rap on the roof from Barry’s lower port wing, before he wisely rolled backwards and out of strike range. 

Bonnie sighed deeply, and shifted from glaring ferociously at Grossman to sending Dusty an apologetic glance. “The night of Nick’s crash, Blade was... upset,” she explained, tactfully. “Maru did have to talk him off the roof, although _we never knew for certain why he was up there,_ ” she added, hissing the last words at Grossie, who just stared skyward in lieu of arguing. 

Dusty, though, was rapidly assembling a few puzzle-pieces of information he’d accumulated over the last six months. “ ‘If you give up today...’” 

“ ‘Think of all the lives you won’t save tomorrow,’” finished a familiar voice from behind Baricza, and Dusty had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing as the three vehicles around him went rigid with shock. 

Shifting a little to the side, Dusty offered a faintly sheepish grin to the helicopter glowering at them all. “Hey, Blade. How was the budget meeting?” 

“It made me want to take a drill to my ears,” Blade answered sourly, rolling up between Barry and Grossman and nodding his thanks as a staff pitty wordlessly set a can of mid-grade in front of him. “How’s the party been so far?” 

Bonnie and Baricza exchanged sheepish glances. Grossman, still next to Blade, continued doing his best impersonation of a large, beige boulder. 

“Probably about the same, I’m afraid,” Baricza offered with a weak smile. “He’s had to deal with us, after all.” 

“And we left Harlan with your Jump crew,” Bonnie added with an apologetic wince. “I’m not sure who’s going to disassemble whom first.” 

“My crew can take care of themselves,” Blade answered levelly, before taking a long, slow swallow of the mid-grade. “And they’re used to dealing with Maru. A cranky mechanic isn’t going to faze them for a moment.” 

“Oh, Maru is still with you?” Bonnie exclaimed, visibly brightening. “I wasn’t sure, we hadn’t seen him.” 

Blade snorted softly. “He’s still up at the Base with a couple of my other team members, but they’ll be down tonight. Maru’s been all but epoxied to my plating for the last thirty-one years - ever since I tried to throw myself off a twenty-five story building.” 

Grossman, if possible, went even more still, while Blade shot a wry glance at the car from the corner of his eye. Bonnie and Baricza both shrank down on their suspensions, exchanging humiliated glances. 

“But in answer to your question, Barry, I’ve been doing much better. Particularly since July,” Blade smirked, and waited. 

It only took a second - Grossman bounced up on his suspension, his eyes darting between Blade and Dusty, and his cheeks ballooning as he struggled not to blurt out the conclusion he’d obviously leapt to. 

It took Dusty a moment more - and the contemplative glances of both Baricza and Bonnie - to realize what they were thinking. “What?! No! It’s not - we’re not - he’s - Blaaade!” 

Across from him, the helicopter just dissolved into roaring laughter.  
________________________________________________________________ 

_1:52 P.M._

Windlifter, settled in a beam of late-afternoon sun as he listened to the quiet chatter on the Lodge’s Tower frequency, blinked his eyes open in surprise as Blade’s laughter echoed across the cobblestone courtyard. 

Conversations across the yard stopped short and fell silent as vehicles of all descriptions turned to stare at the normally broody fire chief, who was now regarding three of his former castmates and his current SEAT with a broad, sharp-edged smirk. 

“Wow, I’ve never heard him laugh like that,” Dipper murmured, her voice soft with reverent amazement. “I didn’t think he knew how.” 

Rob, beside her, snorted softly in amusement. “You didn’t know him when he was young,” the Dodge pointed out. “I did. And let me tell you, I have never met a pair more suited to one another than him and Nick. They can both be absolute slag-scrappers when they put their minds to it.” 

“Wha - Blade? Our boss? No way,” Dipper declared, her propellers twitching in denial. “He’s so serious!” 

“Yeah, sure looks it at the moment, doesn’t he?” Rob retorted, nodding across the courtyard to the helicopter’s still-broad smirk and the varying levels of stunned disbelief on the faces of the vehicles surrounding him. “Dusty looks pretty rattled. Five bucks says Blade’s pulling all their tires about their relationship.” 

“No bet,” Windlifter and Liz chorused, as Dipper just sputtered. 

Rob grinned good-naturedly at their refusals. “Spoilsports.” 

“Spoilsports, perhaps. Suckers, certainly not,” Liz countered, both of them laughing softly as Dipper just stared across the courtyard in astonishment. 

In Windlifter’s ear, the Tower radio crackled to life again, and he closed his eyes to block out the surrounding distractions as he listened for the identity of the inbound craft. 

When he opened his eyes again, the other three were both regarding him with expectant expressions. 

“Inbound?” Liz asked, one eyebrow raised, and he only had to nod in response. Dipper gave an excited squeal and a little bounce on her tires. 

“Perfect,” Liz grinned, already wheeling around to head for the landing pad the incoming helicopters would be directed to, Dipper and Rob close behind her. “Now, we just have another three hours of keeping Nick from finding out about them, the cast from finding out about Nick, and Blade from finding out about his friends or realizing Nick’s plans.” 

“...maybe the Park will catch fire,” Windlifter sighed, and followed.  
____________________________________________________________________ 

_1:55 P.M._

The soft, steady beat of a pair of incoming helicopters caught Blade’s attention, and he glanced upward, his smile softening at the sight of the two choppers making their descent towards the Lodge’s outdoor helipads. “It looks like our last two guests are here. Excuse me for a minute, guys.” 

At his castmates’ distracted nodding, Blade made a quick turn and rolled off, more amused than anything to feel Dusty rolling along on his tail. Even without looking, he could sense Dusty’s consternation. “What is it, Champ?” 

“...did you _have_ to make them think we were together?” 

Blade snorted sharply, slowing down enough for Dusty to roll up beside him. “Of course I didn’t have to. But if Grossie’s going to blab all my worst secrets, I’m going to have to get a shot or two in at him along the way just for revenge. If I offended you -” 

“You didn’t,” Dusty interrupted hastily. “Trust me, other people have paired me up with much worse than you.” 

“I would tell you to avoid the fanfiction, but...” 

“Yeah, way too late for that one,” Dusty sighed, dropping back to Blade’s tail again as they approached the landing pad and the two helicopters; a delicate-looking Hughes 269 painted in royal blue and pewter and sporting a familiar, vibrant smile, and a younger, larger MD 500 in sky blue and silver, a stylized caduceus with the letters ‘RN’ etched into its wings emblazoned in deep navy on her flank. 

Spotting Blade, the 269 gave a delighted cry and bounded forward, greeting him with a kiss on each cheek and an affectionate nuzzle. “Blade, _mi hijo_ , I’ve missed you.” 

“You saw me last month, Maria,” Blade pointed out, although he didn’t bother to hide his smile at her words. _My son_. 

“I saw my Nicholas last month,” she corrected him in a low voice, glancing at the small cluster of vehicles gathering a short distance away. Elizabeth and Blade’s crew obviously knew the secret, but it was still a surprise for the old CHoPs cast. “You, I hardly saw at all! Thirty years without both of my boys, and I get a weekend with you pretending not to be horribly uncomfortable around me.” 

Abruptly conscious of Dusty snickering softly at his tail, Blade frowned down at the smaller helicopter. “Maria, we weren’t uncomfortable -” 

“You two spent too much time pretending, _hijo_ , it made us all unhappy,” she chided. “Thinking I don’t know about you two! You were more grieved than we when he went down, and he was my son!” 

Blade froze, his rotors giving a sharp spasm of alarm as her words sank in. Dusty was laughing openly now, if quietly, behind him. 

With some effort, Blade forced his rotors to relax, although he couldn’t quite stop their uncomfortable twitching. “Maria, how long have you -” 

“Blade,” interrupted Patti, the nurse, speaking up for the first time, “Mama has called you her son since she met you! When did you think she _didn’t_ know?” 

Of all the ‘you-have-got-to-be-slagging-kidding-me’ moments Blade had gone through in the last few months, this one was ranking right up there. 

Dusty rolled forward a few inches, took one look at Blade’s face, and forwent any pretense of laughing quietly. Blade dipped sharply on his suspension and smacked Dusty soundly across the canopy with one rotor, which didn’t stifle the plane’s laughter a bit. “All that time - all _this_ time - you’ve let Nick be that afraid to come out to you, and you’ve known all along?” 

“Keep your voice down, _hijo_ , or you’ll ruin the surprise,” Maria chided, kissing his cheek once more before hopping past him to greet the other cast members, who clustered around her with warm smiles. 

“Mama always thought it was funny to watch the two of you squirm,” Patti explained, making her way forward to give Blade her own cheerful nudge. “And really, it’s your own fault. If you two hadn’t been too dense to figure out Mama accepted you both as you are, it would have saved you both a lot of worry.” 

Dusty, his landing gear sagging until his pontoons rested directly on the cobblestones, was now reduced to breathless chortles. Blade gave his rotors a quarter-turn and swatted him again, which only inspired another, if weaker, burst of laughter. 

Smirking, Patti kissed Blade’s cheek as well and made her way over to the party.  
__________________________________________________________________ 

_4:42 P.M._

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Thrust demanded, trying to crouch down enough to get a good look into the workshop, where an exasperated Maru was sitting back on his tires, tines folded over a polishing rag, giving his most unimpressed look to the helicopter quietly panicking in the middle of his shop floor. 

“...no,” Nick declared decisively, after a long moment of thought. “I’m never gonna be ready, as a matter of fact, I’m just going to go hide in the woods for the rest of my natural life -” 

“There is nothing natural about your life,” Maru muttered, and threw his polishing cloth at Nick’s face. “If I shine you any more, your paint’s gonna start flaking off. Now move your tail, Jammer’s expecting you at five.” 

Nick shook his head sharply, dislodging the cloth. “But -” 

“No buts!” Thrust sang from the doorway. 

“If -” 

“No ifs!” Maru snapped, waving his tines at the helicopter as though Nick was a particularly recalcitrant tractor that needed to be chased off. “Move!” 

“What -” 

“Nick,” Orbit advised, peering in under Thrust’s wing, “just stop talking and hop.” 

“I hate you all and am retracting your invitations,” Nick grumbled, but obediently hopped out of the workshop, ducking under Thrust’s wing and jabbing irritably at the plane’s flaps with one rotor as he did so. Thrust bounced upwards on his suspension with a squeak entirely inappropriate for a plane of his size. 

“Well, if you don’t get your rotors in gear, there won’t be anything for us to be invited to,” Maru snapped, collecting another rag and swatting at Nick’s tail boom with it. “Especially if you want the planes to be a distraction while you slip in. Cabbie! Are you ready?” 

“Ready?! I’ve been waiting on you!” the warplane shouted back from across the tarmac. “We were supposed to leave two minutes ago!” 

“Wha - oh, slag! We’re late! Move it, everybody!” 

“Honestly,” Maru sighed, ducking around Thrust and Orbit to where Cabbie waited patiently on the runway, hatch open and Patch already inside, “if I thought it would stick, I swear I’d kill him again.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Cabbie snorted, waiting politely until Maru had settled inside his hold before closing his hatch and starting up his engines, rather than the rolling load-up he tended to do with the Smokejumpers. 

Maru debated arguing for a long moment as Cabbie rolled, before shaking his head in resignation. “No. I wouldn’t,” he smiled, leaning into the motion as the plane lifted off. “He makes life interesting.” 

“Most potent curse ever uttered,” Cabbie sighed, and pointed his nose towards the Lodge. Even so, ‘interesting’ probably wasn’t going to _begin_ to cover tonight.  
_______________________________________________________ 

_4:45 P.M._

The roar of engines overhead brought Blade’s attention around; he knew Cabbie was expected any minute, but those were not only the engines of a C-119 he was hearing. 

Squinting into the brilliant light of the setting sun, he could see not one, but three forms making their way to the Lodge; the first unquestionably Cabbie, with those double tails, but the other two - 

The bark of disbelieving, delighted laughter escaped him before he could stop it. No mistaking the size of the plane behind Cabbie, or that distinct, three-engine design. And even without a clear glimpse of the smaller plane deftly avoiding the Tristar’s wash, he knew her silhouette would include a high T-tail. 

Seemed like he wasn’t the only one who’d invited a surprise for his partner tonight. 

Cabbie touched down with his usual brisk efficiency, clearing the runway for the enormous form of the L-1011 roaring in behind him. Thrust, as was his nature, diverted everyone’s attention with effortless ease, and nobody but those in the know thought to look for the form of a small helicopter trailing behind the three planes.

 

Blade lost sight of Nick behind the hotel roof, but a moment later Windlifter gave him a faint nod. Nick had landed safely, and was in the hotel, waiting for his cue. 

Smiling, Blade rolled forward to greet the trio of planes rolling off the taxiway. He owed his partner a lot of thanks for this one.  ____________________________________________________________ 

_4:50 P.M._

Drawing a deep breath, Blade surveyed the party in front of him for a moment. His friends, new and old, were mingling happily before him. Barry and Bonnie were chatting happily with Dusty, Dipper, Windlifter, and Elizabeth. Harlan was smiling and laughing in the presence of Patch and the Smokejumpers, his earlier anger forgotten. Grossman was listening with a fascinated expression to a story Cabbie was telling, while Avalanche eavesdropped as subtly as he was able from a short distance away. Thrust was lingering near Cabbie, eyeing the shimmer over his wing with no subtlety whatsoever. Orbit had joined Rob and Maru where they settled near Maria and Patti, off to one side of the group, and they appeared to be reminiscing about some past mishap of Blade’s and/or Nick’s, if the fondly amused looks on their faces were any indication. 

Closer to the entrance of the Lodge, Jammer, Andre the concierge, Pulaski, and Rake had gathered, watching the party from a short distance away and discussing something in an undertone. If Blade looked at just the right angle, he could make out a sliver of Nick’s nose from where the smaller chopper was waiting behind Pulaski, letting the fire engine’s size shield him from the eyes of those in the courtyard. 

They’d planned this out, rehearsed it a dozen times. All he had to do was remember his lines and hit his marks. 

Clearing his throat, Blade caught the attention of those closest to him - the group around Dusty - and the silence spread out from them until everyone in the courtyard was watching him. He’d chosen this precise spot through trial and error - the last light of the setting sun far behind him threw an amazing array of colors across the sky above the roof of the Lodge, and the way they’d arranged the lights kept the audience’s focus on him, rather than the shadows around him. Or anyone that happened to be _in_ those shadows. 

Coughing once, as much out of genuine nerves as affectation, Blade settled back a little on his gear and regarded the vehicles in front of him. 

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why, after thirty years, I’ve decided to stop being a recluse and invite you here,” Blade began, meeting the eyes of each of his former castmates as he spoke. “The answer is... both insanely complicated and very simple. I’ve made friends. Friends that have helped to remind me exactly what it was that I lost three decades ago when Nick went down - and friends who have helped me to find it again.” 

He paused, shooting a quick smile towards Dusty and Windlifter as he did so. Dusty grinned broadly back up at him, his wing flaps quivering with excitement, and Windlifter cast him an almost too-quick-to-notice wink. 

“That said, I’d like to introduce you all to someone you already know very well,” Blade said, barely stifling his chuckle. “Our own - and _my_ own - Nick Lopez.” 

And as the lights burst to life to reveal Nick, his burgundy and black paint at a high shine and his registry number, restored to him only a week before, gleaming white along his roofline, Blade wondered if he would ever feel happier in his life. 

The disbelieving gasps and shouts from his former castmates were easily drowned out by the cheers of his team and friends - happy as he always was to see Thrust and Orbit, he couldn’t help but wonder why they were _here_ \- as Nick hopped over, his grin as brilliant as ever. 

“Hey, everybody,” Nick laughed, settling himself at Blade’s side and leaned against him. It was an action all of their castmates recognized - the pair had rarely, if ever, been out of one another’s personal space when the cameras were on, and the moment they stopped rolling, they were all but welded to each other’s sides. 

In the increasing, astounded quiet, an incredulous “...oh, Ford,” drifted up from the group. 

“Wrong make, Barry,” Nick laughed back, throwing a wink at the biplane. 

“Yeah, but ‘oh, Hughes-and-Messerschmitt-Bölkow-Blohm’ really doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Dusty shouted back, prompting a wave of laughter from the firefighters present, and a few weak chuckles from the actors. 

“Thanks, kid,” Nick mock-groused, rolling his eyes. In the process, his gaze obviously slipped to the side enough to catch a glimpse of the two helicopters at the far side of the group, because, strangely, Blade felt Nick go rigid with alarm against him at the sight of his mother and sister. 

“We had very similar ideas with surprise invitations,” Blade murmured, shifting enough to rub gently against Nick’s side, not sure why Nick seemed so alarmed, but soothing him instinctively anyway. “Thank you, by the way. It means a lot to see them outside of emergencies.” 

Nick didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze still fixed on his family, and Blade could feel a quiver of tension making its way through Nick’s body. 

“You know, your mother had something very interesting to tell me when I greeted her earlier,” he murmured, taking a guess at the reason for Nick’s alarm. 

It took Nick a moment to process of Blade’s words, but he could feel the faint twitch of curiosity that went through his partner as they sank in. “Oh?” 

“Yeah. The reason she’s called me _‘mi hijo’_ since she met me? Not just because she thought we were good friends.” 

There was a very long pause from beside him before the tension dropped out of Nick all at once, his rotors going so slack that the blades sagged over Blade’s roof. 

“...well, slag,” Nick sighed, his voice remarkably steady, but Blade could feel the tremor running through his partner’s frame as he straightened again. “Shoulda known I can’t put one over on Mama.” Taking a deep breath, Nick scooted sideways a few inches, turning enough to look at Blade and their audience equally. “It’s a good thing Mama knows about us, though,” he grinned, speaking loud enough now for his voice to carry over the entire courtyard. “Because I’ve got some plans for tonight that would’ve gotten pretty awkward otherwise.” 

That earned a few laughs from his still-stunned audience, and encouraging nods from several members of the fire team. What the slag was he planning here? 

“Mama always said at our New Year’s parties for us to start the year as we mean to go on,” Nick began, smiling towards his mother, and Blade’s rotors twitched slightly as he remembered his dream from that morning. 

“Which is why,” Nick continued, his voice strengthening as he continued, “I want to end this year, and begin the next, with a celebration of our love for one another, and the dedication we’ve had to one another for so many years now. I want...” Nick paused, swallowed nervously, then stiffened his rotors and continued. “I want to ask you to marry me, Blaze.” 

Oh. 

_Oh!_

“I know it doesn’t give ya much time to think about it,” Nick continued with a sheepish chuckle, “but everyone else has been plannin‘ on this before I could think to ask, so I was hopin‘ that you’d be willin‘ to marry me tonight, Blaze, in front of the family we’ve made along the way, and -” 

When Nick got nervous - which was not often - he could ramble on for hours without stopping. This was beginning to sound a great deal like one of those times, so Blade took the logical approach to stopping his babble, and kissed him. 

And kissed him, and kissed him, until their audience had finally stopped cheering and started laughing, and Maru was very loudly contemplating throwing something at them. 

“Yes,” Blade said breathlessly as they pulled apart, to another round of cheering from the crowd. “Yes, Nick. Absolutely yes.” 

“Good, ‘cause Jammer would’ve been damn disappointed if he hadn’t gotten to perform a ceremony after weeks of planning,” Nick chuckled weakly, and Blade glanced around his partner to where the Superintendent was waiting, smiling patiently at the pair of them. 

“Jammer?” 

“Has been a Justice of the Peace for longer than either of you has been alive,” the old bus informed them, smiling gently. “It’s come in handy a time or two.” 

He could only imagine. Beyond imagining, though, a sudden and somewhat distressing thought occurred to him. “Nick, we need a marriage license -” 

From his position beside Pulaski, Andre cleared his throat sharply, holding up one tine to display a small, very official-looking piece of paper, already protected in a picture frame Blade was reasonably sure was from the gift shop. Narrowing his eyes slightly, Blade surveyed the paper, and was almost unsurprised to realize it was a marriage license - one with both his and Nick’s signatures already in place. 

After a few seconds of thought, he shot an astounded look at Jammer, recalling the piles of documents he’d been forced to sign during one of their recent meetings. Gods, but his mouth had ached from the pen after a while, and ten or twelve sheets in, he certainly wasn’t looking that closely at everything he was signing. 

“Is it actually legal if I didn’t know what I was signing at the time?” 

“Well, if you’d like to contest it...” 

“I most certainly would not.” 

“In that case, if you boys would like to get started,” Jammer gestured towards the side of the Lodge with one tire, where a soft, steady light was slowly becoming visible in the deepening night. Grinning broadly, Nick pressed a quick kiss to the side of Blade’s nose and bounded forward. 

Ignoring the soft giggles and broad grins of his team, Blade obediently trailed Nick around the corner of the building, only to stop, stunned at what he saw. 

The wide arbor that lead into the gardens had been decorated to suit both the celebration and the season; lush pine branches had been woven into the wooden lattice, and gold-trimmed white ribbons wrapped around the broad corner posts gleamed softly in the glow of thousands of fairy lights that decorated the structure.

And, from the middle of the arbor’s entrance side, above where he and Nick would be, a bundle of mistletoe hung, the white berries all but glowing in the light. 

__________________________________________________________________ 

_5:00 P.M._

The ceremony was a blur; the repeated vows slipped from Blade more easily than any words he’d ever spoken, his gaze fixed on Nick’s the entire time. From the corner of his eye, he could occasionally make out the glint of a camera lens; at least one of the vehicles in the audience was filming this, thankfully. He’d want to see the whole ceremony again in the future, but in particular, he wanted the opportunity to relive this moment. 

“I now pronounce you legally wed husbands,” Jammer declared, and the cheer that went up from their watching audience was almost deafening. 

Chuckling, Jammer waved the crowd to silence before adding, “You may now kiss, again.” 

If he’d thought earlier that he could never be happier, he’d certainly been proven wrong, Blade thought, leaning forward to claim Nick’s lips with his own. He could feel Nick laughing into the kiss, just as he had the night before Halloween - 

\- and then he could feel something very cold and wet burst over his back. Pulling back with a yelp, he exchanged a stunned glance with Nick - who looked just as bewildered as he felt - before eyeing the water and thin scraps of rubber dripping down his partner - his _husband’s_ \- sides. The same water that was dripping down Blade’s own sides, and the same thin scraps of balloon rubber that were clinging to Blade’s sides and dangling from his rotor blades. 

Incredulous, he flicked his rotor enough to shake off the scrap of rubber, ignoring the nervous giggles starting to rise from the audience, and eyed the water that scattered from the movement. 

The _glittering_ water. 

“MARU!!!” 

______________________________________________________ 

OPERATION: HAPPILY EVER AFTER  
RESULT: RESOUNDING SUCCESS  
~ END ~  
_____________________________________________________ 

“But - Nick - what- how?” Grossman stammered, not for the first time, some hours later, earning a round of exasperated sighs and eyerolls. 

“For the last time, Grossie - magic!” 

“But magic doesn’t -” 

Windlifter, still sitting on the fringes of the little group, made a low sound in his throat, one neatly balanced between a hum and a growl. 

“...right,” Grossman said, with a firm nod. “Magic.” 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, that was long. And fun. And a pain in the ass to write, honestly, Blade is so damn suspicious that he disappeared for a week while I was trying to get this written and came back to bitch at a Post-It Note. Aaaaand apparently it takes me seven months to make minor (but necessary!) edits for smoothness and emotional clarity...
> 
> When the invites for Nick’s party went out at the end of the last chapter, AmbulanceRobot’s amazing duo of Thrust Skyhigh and Orbit Slipstream were on the guest list, due to their long-standing friendship with Blade. She very kindly allowed them to come, and I’m doing my level best to get them back to her in the same condition in which they arrived.
> 
> And yes, that was what Maru did with the glitter that's been getting mentioned since the early chapters of _All Hallowed_. Glitter-filled water balloons. Maru was, in fact, the one who informed me Nick and Blade would be getting married when I asked him about the glitter, and set off the entire ASA series.
> 
> *An intoxicated Otter - Dusty is referring to a de Haviland Canada DHC-3, not a marine mammal. 
> 
> Hughes 269s were first introduced in the mid 1950s as light training and utility helicopters. They’re tiny as far as aircraft go - an inch shy of 29’ long and not even eight feet tall, they weigh in at under 900lbs when empty. 
> 
> The Hughes MD 500s, like the 369, is a civilian chopper evolved from the OH-6 Cayuse, a Light Observation Helicopter developed for the US Army in the early 1960s. 
> 
> Yes, I’m aware that the Rod of Asclepius, not the caduceus, is historically the proper symbol associated with medicine.


End file.
